


Because it's true

by thepurplewombat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, TFP fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 08:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9377603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepurplewombat/pseuds/thepurplewombat
Summary: Alternate version of the "I love you" scene from TFP





	

“What?”

The voice that comes over the speaker is implacable.

“You heard me, Sherlock. Tell Doctor Watson that you love him.”

Sherlock looks around frantically, but there’s no chance to escape, there never was. At this point, he’s not sure if there is even a chance for all of them to come out alive. Nevertheless.

“No,” he says, and he is ridiculously proud of the way his voice doesn’t shake, He’s not looking at John, who isn’t moving even a muscle. 

“No?” Eurus says, and there’s something sickeningly like delight in her tone.”Sherlock…”

“There’s nothing you can do,” Sherlock says flatly, “that can make me say that.”

“Tell Doctor Watson you love him or you all die, Sherlock,” Euros says, and what he’d assumed was a camera moved, pointing itself at the three of them. There’s nowhere to hide, nothing he can do.

Trapped. Like a rat in a maze.

Sherlock can feel himself beginning to hyperventilate, and then John is there, taking hold of Sherlock’s wrists and pulling his hands away from his face.

“Sherlock, it’s okay,” John says. “You can say it, it’s fine.”

“I can’t,” Sherlock whispers. “I can’t say that to you.”

Sherlock thinks might be crying - is he crying? - yes, tears on his face, definitely crying. John looks puzzled, it’s Sherlock’s favourite of all John’s expressions, but it doesn’t help.

“Why can’t you say it, Sherlock?”

Sherlock shakes his head and tries to turn away, but John isn’t having any of that. He holds on, and all Sherlock can do to shut out the monumental horror of the situation is close his eyes.

“Sherlock?” John asks again.

“Tick, tock, big brother,” Euros prompts. “Tick, tock, tick…”

“Sherlock, why can’t you say it?”

“Because,” Sherlock begins, but his voice catches and breaks, and he takes a steadying breath. “Because it’s true.”

He can feel John stiffen in shock, his hands clenching on Sherlock’s wrists for a second, but then John’s hands become gentle again.

John’s voice is rough when he speaks again, like he’s fighting off tears too.

“I suppose I should have known,” he mutters. “I should have…okay, Sherlock, look. Can you look at me please?”

Sherlock manages to open his eyes, and John is standing in front of him, staring into his eyes searchingly.

“What we’ll do is, I’ll go first, okay? And then you can say it back to me and everything will be okay. Okay?”

Sherlock makes himself nod, but that nod is probably the biggest lie he’s ever told. He’s wanted to hear the words, yes, but not like this, never like this. It seems to him sometimes that he’s cursed only to receive his desires slantwise. Want a friend? You’ll get one, but you’ll fall in love and he won’t. Want to hold the love of your life in your arms? You get to do it while he’s crying over his dead wife. Want to hear the words spoken? This is what you get. This horror show for the amusement of a twisted genius.

John takes a deep breath, opens his mouth, and says nothing. For a long moment, he says nothing, and then he releases his grip on Sherlock’s wrists and puts both hands on the sides of Sherlock’s face. John’s hands are warm and gentle, but he won’t let Sherlock look away. Why not? Is he _enjoying_ this? No, no there are tears in his eyes and his hands are shaking, and Sherlock doesn’t know what is going on at _all._

 _“_ Sherlock,” John says, and it’s quiet in the cell. “Sherlock, I love you.”

Sherlock takes a deep breath, prepared to play his part in the farce, but John interrupts him, pulling his face down and kissing him gently. It’s over before Sherlock can really process what’s happening, but John’s hand is in his hair now, and John’s finger is stroking the curve of Sherlock’s ear, and John is sort of smiling and crying at once. Sherlock keeps looking for the telltales of a lie, but there’s nothing there but calm certainty and something…something that Sherlock may have caught glimpses of, years ago before…everything.

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes,” John says, and there’s something like joy in his voice and his face is saying that it’s all true. “God help me, I love you so much.”

And after that, it’s easy. It’s the easiest thing in the world to dare to lean down and brush his lips across John’s forehead and murmur “I love you, John.”


End file.
